


Hope in a Tiger Lily

by letscallitink



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Books, But mostly fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Cochise is secretly a huge nerd, Cochise the sweetheart, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Skitters, Tom Mason is a good dad, Volm, begins in that horrifying gap between seasons 2 and 3, books books books, filling in the blanks, goes AU sometime during season three, original character for some romance because Cochise deserves it, season four? there is no such thing, violence isn't too terribly graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letscallitink/pseuds/letscallitink
Summary: Cochise is in love with Earth, in love with humanity, and in love with learning, and it all starts when he finds a flower pressed between the pages of one of Tom Mason's books."Earth was a closer hope. It was diverse, and alive, and holding its own against the war being raged all around it. Its people were bright and shining, unlike any that Cochise had ever encountered in the galaxy, and they… well, Cochise would be halfway to death before he would admit it, but he thought that they were beautiful in their strangeness. Tom had told him of so many amazing things that were all on one planet, more miracles and wonders than he could ever hope to see in a single lifetime. The war was practically on top of his head, and he had already seen a few for himself. The humans were so used their world that they didn't seem to realize how amazing it was. But Cochise did. He saw so much that, sometimes, he could barely take it in."[Includes the empty space between seasons two and three, missing scenes, original characters, romance, and a whole lot of alien world-building. Goes AU sometime during season three because I refuse to acknowledge that season four exists.]





	1. Tiger Lily

Cochise was not a scholar. He was a warrior, as most of his people were, but he was still educated, and he had great appreciation for those who dedicated their lives to knowledge (the garnering, the teaching, or the discovering; it made no difference to him). Sometimes, he envied those people. He was not unsatisfied in his own work, but he enjoyed the very different satisfaction that came with learning. He enjoyed the peace and quiet, and the rest. He needed the rest. After so many years, even though he was still young, he felt very tired. And being tired… it wore down on his motivation to move forward. All of this was worse with the humans. They were so full of energy, so bright and passionate like a raging flame. They wore him down. First, their inability to accept the Volm, and then the gusto in which they included his people in their efforts. It was exhausting, how they moved in a whirlwind to adapt and change. Maybe that was how they had survived for so long. The Espheni certainly weren't prepared for the fierceness of a race so seemingly frail as humans.

"If you're here to help," said the one called Weaver, "then darn well do it."

It had taken a while for Cochise to translate that into something he understood. English was difficult enough, but the way humans spoke was so odd. Cochise had learned what could be considered _proper_ English, devoid of slang or jargon, but each human spoke the language differently. The militant Weaver did not bother to explain, but there was one human who stopped to truly talk to Cochise. That in itself struck Cochise as peculiar, seeing as most humans talked _at_ him instead of _to_ him, but then the human introduced himself. Professor Tom Mason. They had met multiple times before, but had not had time for formalities. Professor Mason seemed to genuinely be interested in what Cochise had to offer, and that too took Cochise by surprise. But then he remembered something. While studying humans, he had not learned very much of what their titles meant. He understood the intricacies of the military rankings (there were so many different kinds and standards that his father had even stated that a race so militant must be at least _somewhat_ reasonable), and a few of their everyday terms like Mr. and Mrs., but he had forgotten about the term _professor_. It hadn't seemed relevant when he was studying, but here, right in front of him, was a professor. A _scholar_.

"Don't mind Weaver," the Professor said. "He doesn't trust easy."

There was some polite thing that Cochise could say, some words of understanding to confirm that he wasn't offended, but somewhere between his mind and his mouth those words rearranged themselves into, "Why do you all speak so differently?"

Professor Mason laughed. Or, he chuckled. Close enough. Cochise's question had amused him either way, and Cochise instantly felt bashful, which was _ridiculous_. He was Chichauk Il'sichninch Cha'tichol, a warrior of great standing, and he would not be bashful because a man of learning (and an alien one at that), laughed at his ignorance.

But then the Professor surprised him by saying, "Oh, wow. I'm sorry, I didn't even think of that confusing you. Your English is just so perfect."

Cochise knew the feathery, soothing words of a peace-keeping diplomat when he heard them, but he also recognized sincerity. Tom Mason had both.

"We all have accents," Professor Mason explained to him as they walked together. "We learn to speak the way our parents speak, and the way the people around us speak. As we grow, and interact with different people, we take on new ways of speaking, and… well, by time we're adults, we each have a unique speech pattern. A lot of the people here are local, so they speak similarly, but we've got folks all the way from Texas. That's a long ways with transportation as inhibited as it is. I should introduce you to Cathy. She had come from New Zealand to visit family here when the Fi– uh, Espheni came. I can barely keep up with her when she talks."

What was Cochise supposed to say to that?

Apparently nothing, because Professor Mason kept talking. "I'm from not that far away myself, but some of the locals say things here that confuse me sometimes. My kids all get it though. They catch on faster when they're young."

As far as Cochise knew, "kids" were infant goats (he had seen goats in Charleston and decided that they belonged somewhere on the list of strangest creatures he had ever seen in the galaxy), but he realized that this probably wasn't what Professor Mason meant. Thankfully, Cochise had a quick mind.

"You have… offspring?" Cochise asked. He could only hope that he wasn't completely mistaken in his comprehension of what Professor Mason had said, and mildly cursed himself for not having taken more time to study humans.

"Offsp-huh, yeah. Three boys. You've met Hal and Ben. I don't think you've met Matt."

Hal and Ben. Hal and Ben… ah. Cochise _did_ know them. Hal was around quite often, and he had fought beside Ben in the liberation of harnessed children. Ben had been a fierce fighter, and Cochise actually admired him, but he knew better to approach someone who rode the highs of battle with such fury as Ben did. Hal had not been forward, but he had not been unfriendly, and Cochise appreciated that.

"Yes, I know them," Cochise acknowledged. "They are… good boys."

Professor Mason smiled. "Yeah, they are."

Cochise felt a twist of envy when he saw that smile. Volm did not smile as readily as humans did, but this was an expression of pride and affection that Cochise should have been familiar with from his own father. That very thought, though, was met with derision in his mind. Waschak-cha'ab did not smile, and he certainly did not smile at Cochise. Not since Cochise's brother had died, and that had been very long ago.

"Anyway," the Professor continued, "I think it's okay for you to call me Tom. I mean, we're all calling you Cochise, so I think it's fair for you to call me by my first name. There's no reason for you to be so formal with me."

Air huffed from Cochise's nostrils. Professor may not have been a rank, but the soldiers and officers all seemed to take their ranking system very seriously, and unless Cochise had misinterpreted, the Professor was of standing amongst them, so– "Are you not a member of the military?"

"Not exactly. I'm Weaver's Second-in-Command, but I've never been in the military. That's a long story, if you have the time for it."

There were a hundred other things that Cochise could be getting done (alright, twenty-six, but who was counting?), but those were mostly matters of supervising. Nothing needed his presence, and his team had settled in well. They would be fine on their own.

"I believe I do have the time… Tom."

* * *

 

It was Tom who introduced Cochise to books. Other species had books, of course, but Cochise had never had the time to indulge in them. Tom offered Cochise one to borrow, and Cochise found himself pulling it out of his pocket in every spare moment. Reading English was one thing, but reading English that was written by a human being was different. The woman who wrote this book was not one influenced by aliens or apocalypse. She was simply writing as a human in a human world, and Cochise vigorously drank in the completely foreign concepts that world presented.

Nonfiction, Tom Mason had called it, because "Fiction might be a bit much. I don't want you getting confused. Most people prefer fiction, but as far as nonfiction goes, I think that this one is pretty interesting."

Tom had not been lying. Cochise finished the book, and his head was so filled with humanity that he wanted for nothing else.

"Do you have another?" Cochise forced his tone to remain steady and not reveal that he was actually pleading for more.

"You finished that fast," Tom observed, examining the book that Cochise handed back to him. "Did you like it?"

"Very much."

"Good. Um…" Tom turned to examine the shelves that held the books. It was called a library, or so Cochise was told, which was the human equivalent of archives. "Uh… _Angela's Ashes_ is definitely too much this early; we'll save that one for later. Oh, here, this'll do."

The book Tom handed over was twice as thick as the last one. Cochise was satisfied with its weight and texture. He flipped the pages experimentally, detecting the smell that seemed to specifically come from only books. Tom's pleased smile did not evade Cochise's notice, but he ignored it in favor of taking in another whiff of bookish scent. If he was making a fool of himself, he didn't care. Tom had proved himself to be an understanding person, and Cochise was sure that Tom could understand how attractive this smell was. Human noses were not as sensitive as a Volm's, but this scent was too strong to be missed by even them.

"Yeah, I like that smell, too."

Cochise offered Tom a small smile. "Volm do not have books. I was unfamiliar with the scent."

"No books?" Tom only looked mildly surprised. He seemed more affronted by the idea than anything else. "That's too bad. Books have always been friends of mine."

"It is too bad," Cochise agreed, still snuffling the pages. He caught a not-book smell, the tangy smell of something sweet gone old, but not rotten. It smelt dry.

Violet-tinged fingers flipped each page until a flash of orange caught Cochise's eye. It was flat, and looked stuck to the paper, so Cochise held the book wide open for Tom to examine.

"Huh!" Tom exclaimed, brushing a fingertip across the orange. "Whoever owned this book before must have pressed flowers."

"A flower?" Cochise questioned. It was obviously that, now that he looked at it, but the first thing that came to his mind when he looked at it was not _flower_. It was a nagging familiarity, as though he had seen it before, but it was mid-winter and no flowers were blooming on the surface.

"A Tiger Lily. My wife loved these." Cochise felt a flush of embarrassment for not having previously realized that Tom, having offspring, must also have had a mate at some point. Then again, maybe it was better that he didn't bring it up before, if Tom referred to her in past tense. "Dunno if they grow here without people planting them."

 _Catarius._ Cochise blinked in surprise as the word came to mind unbidden. Yes, this looked _exactly_ like a Catarius (flattened appearance aside). The color was a bit off, but other than that, it was perfect.

For as long as he could remember, Cochise had associated the Catarius with his homeworld. It was an untouchable symbol of a home he would never see. Maybe he children would see it, or his children's children, if he ever had offspring at all. That had been his driving hope for so long, but it suddenly seemed like a cold, distant hope. He would die before he ever found out if that hope would be fulfilled.

Earth, though, Earth was a closer hope. It was diverse, and alive, and holding its own against the war being raged all around it. Its people were bright and shining, unlike any that Cochise had ever encountered in the galaxy, and they… well, Cochise would be halfway to death before he would admit it, but he thought that they were beautiful in their strangeness. Tom had told him of so many amazing things that were all on one planet, more miracles and wonders than he could ever hope to see in a single lifetime. The war was practically on top of his head, and he had already seen a few for himself. The humans were so used their world that they didn't seem to realize how amazing it was. But Cochise did. He saw so much that, sometimes, he could barely take it in.

He would tell no one until he had to, but in that moment, Cochise made a decision.

Earth was home.


	3. Wild Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cochise meets a smaller-than-average soldier.

It took him awhile, but Cochise eventually was able to judge the difference between a rebel Skitter and an Espheni's Skitter at a single glance. There was something different in the way they carried themselves, the way they stood. The rebel Skitters were more alert; shifty, constantly looking about like they could be attacked at any moment. They felt fear.

The Skitter that Cochise was now looking at obviously had no such concerns. Whether it was arrogance or the habitual relaxation bred by usually having a Mech at their backs or even something caused by the chemlock drugs that made those Skitters so careless compared to the rebels, no one knew, but Cochise was thankful for the distinction. It would do no one any good, after all, if he couldn't tell the difference between foes and allies.

It was odd that the creature was alone. Even when they had an accompanying Mech, it was rare that a Skitter was seen without another Skitter at its side. They tended to come in pairs, at least, though it was more common to see groups of three or five. Cochise sniffed the air but could not find the scent of a second Skitter, or even the metallic tang of a Mech. This one was definitely alone, which meant that it was possibly lost. It would be perfect to capture, and if not that, it would be an easy kill. Practically risk-free, from Cochise's point of view. There was, however, one small drawback to this all-too-easy situation.

One cannot hit a target when one has no weapon.

Cochise had not gone out to the edges of Charleston with any plans to fight. He had wanted to survey certain housing units. He was less likely to get hurt if the buildings were unsafe, so he had taken it upon himself to check their structures for flaws. Tom had said such a gesture was unnecessary, but Cochise had used polite words to soothe away the flustered, overly-grateful streak that Tom tended to fall into. Cochise called it 'nothing more than a polite gesture meant to make their work more efficient and less hazardous' and failed to mention that he genuinely wanted to help Charleston rebuild. He wanted to see what humans would make, given the opportunity.

So. Cochise was standing in the rubble of an obliterated house while a very easy-to-kill Skitter was _right there_ , and Cochise had no weapon. Because no one takes a gun to survey broken-down old houses, obviously, and Cochise had not wanted to appear as paranoid. Most humans already thought that he was overly militant, which was true in a way, but he didn't want to further promote that view. As strange as it was, he felt the longing to be one of them. He would never be human, of course, but if they could one day call him friend and comrade instead of alien.

This was a bad situation. Humans had other words for it, colorful words, but Cochise was rather sure that those words were rather vulgar, so he resisted the urge to use them.

Backing away wasn't an option. There was an enemy Skitter on the outskirts of an inhabited city, and if Cochise backed away now, that Skitter could do anything. No, Cochise couldn't let the creature out of his sight. But, by the same token, Cochise could not simply watch. Unfortunately, there was no third option, because attacking the Skitter with his bare hands was probably the dumbest thing that anyone could ever do, and Cochise was not about to make himself the fool who _proved_ it to be the dumbest thing.

_I believe humans would refer to this as an impasse._

Cochise swayed there for a moment, unsure. He couldn't leave, he couldn't just watch, but there was no action he could think to take. There wasn't much around that could be made into a weapon, and it was completely against his training to fight with a weapon he didn't know like a brother. He had to do something, but there was nothing to be done.

Maybe it was time to use one of the humans' rather vulgar expletives.

Just as Cochise was ready to give in and try to run for help (which would be a stupid thing to do, but desperate times called for stupid measures), he heard the soft shuffle of feet – a human's quick, short-limbed gait. Cochise didn't move or say anything. He just hoped that the Skitter wouldn't hear the human, who obviously wasn't trained in the art of scouting, because Cochise could hear gravel being scraped across the ground. The Skitter, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. A Rebel Skitter would have immediately been on alert, but this one was dull-minded and self-assured in its safety despite being alone. That had to be something conditioned into them. It made sense. The Espheni didn't need their soldiers to have survival instincts. Skitters, Cochise thought, were like the Berserkers. Humans used the word _kamikaze_ , and that seemed appropriate. They threw themselves into a fight without fear, not because they were brave, but because they felt not the consequences of death. Death as all around them, but they acted as if they could not be touched.

As surprising as it was, Cochise did not flinch when the long muzzle of a rifle snuck past his cheek and steadied itself on his shoulder.

"Do you mind?" whispered a young, human voice that was surprisingly close to his ear.

"I am glad to be of service," Cochise answered, bracing himself so that the kickback of the shot would not send him off balance.

"Thanks."

A shot rang out and the Skitter's head snapped to an unnatural angle. The Skitter dropped like a stone, legs splayed awkwardly under its body. Cochise allowed himself a moment to admire the clean shot and filter the ringing out of his ears.

The rifle lifted shakily, but with military precision. A newly-trained recruit, then. That would explain the... youth...

Cochise turned, expecting to find a young soldier, but finding a child instead. He had never seen such a small soldier among the humans. He must have been older than his height suggested, or Captain Weaver certainly wouldn't have allowed the child to operate a gun. The small creature looked up at him, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled, but not with the usual distaste that Cochise was used to receiving from many humans. It was purely curiosity, and it was refreshing, Cochise found (looked at as different, not just alien, because on this planet, alien was like a dirty word). The boy breathed out through his nose, relaxing a bit as he settled the gun over his shoulder.

"Matt Mason," the boy said, gesturing to himself with a gloved hand.

Cochise knew that name. "... Tom Mason's son?"

"Yep. Him." The curly-headed Mason child cocked his head and squinted (those eyes, the color of them almost too dark to detect; that was Tom's blood in this half-grown creature). Cochise felt like he was being weighed and measured, which wasn't intimidating from a child, but felt quite important from a Mason. "Dad _said_ you were pretty awesome. Think he's right. _Man_ , you _are_ big."

Cochise didn't have the first clue how to respond to that. He wasn't even sure if he had correctly interpreted the boy's meaning. But before he could come up with anything to say, Matt Mason held up a finger in a gesture that Cochise had learned that humans used to ask for patience, or silence, or both. For safety's sake, Cochise gave the boy both, and remained quiet.

Quick as a flash, Matt reached inside his coat and pulled out a thick volume of paper. Cochise's nostrils flared at the scent of a book, and he almost felt guilty for the pleasure the scent brought him. It was too good, but at the same time, it made Cochise ache for… for something different. The life that he lived was not one he would have chosen for himself. There was a war, yes, and he wanted to help the many peoples victimized by the Espheni, but if there wasn't a war, Cochise _knew_ he would have a different life. If he could just choose to be anything he wanted, to go anywhere, he would be right here, on Earth, and he would live in a house like humans did, and he would have books, and he would grow Tiger Lilies, and… and so many things. He would have more friends instead of fellow soldiers. Tom Mason would tell him about history and Cochise would have the chance to watch the young ones grow and maybe (oh, and this was a traitorous thought that shocked and pleased him as his mind conceived it) he could have a family of his own. Human women were strange to him, but not unattractive. Perhaps, if it weren't for the war and the xenophobia it often caused, just _maybe_ one might–

The very idea startled Cochise back into reality like the shot of a blaster, and he realized that Matt Mason was holding the book out to him. The corners were foxed and yellowed and the spine was supported by duct tape, but it was the best thing Cochise had seen all day.

"Dad said to give you this," the Mason boy said as Cochise took the book from him. "It's a true story. I haven't read it, but Ben has. Like, five times, 'cause he's a nerd. Not that you're a nerd. You're just super-advanced or something, like Dad says. It's cool."

When all else failed (because Cochise's train of thought was not only failing him, but flat-out betraying him), manners were key. So Cochise did the smart thing and said, "Thank you, Matt Mason."

"No problem," the young human answered, which Cochise understood to be an informal variation of _you're welcome_. Informal behavior, as long as it was not aggressive, usually signaled a certain level of ease or relaxation. The boy was comfortable around him. How… strange. "Gotta go, or Weaver'll have my butt. Bye!"

The boy gave a sloppy salute and bolted back into the rubble. Cochise blinked.

 _Well_.


End file.
